


Time After Time

by April_Valentine



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Complete, First Time, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_Valentine/pseuds/April_Valentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reese and Finch get together, but Finch doesn't want to talk about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**The First Time**

"I don't want to talk about this, Mr. Reese. I just want to do it."

"I don't want to talk either, Harold." Breathing heavily, John crushed their mouths back together.

He was pushed back, hard. "No. I mean not ever."

John met his eyes. "Not ever?"

"I don't want to discuss it. I don't want to go over it. I don't want to review it, examine it, reminisce or dwell."

John didn't see how that was possible, but he was after all, a practical man. If Finch didn't want to talk about it, just keep things on a purely physical level, he'd go along. 

"Whatever you say, Harold," he answered, unbuckling his pants. He let them drop and reached to pull Finch back against him. “I’m not much of a talker myself.”

"Good." He was being kissed again, with bruising hunger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written two "chapters" of this strange little thing so far. There's more to come, but it may take awhile since Finch hasn't told me exactly what's going on either.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Second Time**

 

“Uhhhh,” John groaned. “More, Harold. Please… “

Wordlessly, Finch obliged. He pounded harder into John, one hand snaking around to jerk John’s cock in time with his thrusts.

“God, yes,” John moaned in response. “Like that… harder, deeper… “

Finch shoved himself deep and his body surged with orgasm. The bursts of semen filled John, making him come in turn. He lay shaking from pleasure, his whole body glowing. 

Finch began to withdraw, then hesitated. His lips touched the back of John’s neck. 

“That was… “ John started.

“Shhh… remember, I don’t want to talk about it,” Finch reminded him, his voice was gentle, but no less serious. He pulled out, climbed off the bed and retreated to the bathroom.

John just lay there, his eyes closed, the glow fading.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Third Time**

 

Another rough case, another night when they both knew neither would sleep. John met Finch’s eyes, stung by the pain he saw there. They hadn’t been in time, despite their best efforts. An innocent young man had died, and they both felt guilty about the waste of potential.

He didn’t say a word, but stepped closer, reaching out. Finch sighed, the sound broken, shaky, and allowed the embrace. John felt him trembling. He wanted to offer words of solace, encouragement, but held them back. Since their intimacies had begun, with Finch’s insistence about not discussing the change in their relationship, he’d become more careful about his words. He hadn’t said thank you for the job, hadn’t teased, hadn’t flirted. He didn’t want to think about how perhaps the new awkwardness had contributed to their failure today. But he knew that Finch was thinking about it.

Fluttering the way a captured bird might, Finch leaned into him. John closed his arms around him, let them tighten. It felt so good to hold Harold this way… but he couldn’t tell him so. Instead, he kissed the side of his neck softly, letting his lips linger.

A small moan told him what Finch wanted, needed. He turned him, led him to his bed. Undressed him wordlessly, propped him on pillows and knelt between his open thighs. Sucked him until he cried out, the sound full of as much pain as pleasure. Tears sprang to John’s eyes. 

He moved up, wrapped the sated man in his arms. Harold had stopped trembling. His eyes were closed, his face wet. John kissed the salty trails with all the tenderness he possessed. 

“John… “ Finch breathed, his voice quavering. “John.”

He thought his heart might break. “Shhh… I’ve got you.” Just a whisper, John even then hesitating to speak. Even now, he expected a rebuke, Harold compensating for his lapse. 

But Harold surprised him. He sighed, shifting to settle his head against John’s damp neck, hands clutching to pull him closer. 

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be perhaps one more chapter. Finch is finally talking to me again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God Mode. It had to be God Mode that broke the dam.

**The Fourth Time**

They’d dropped Root off at the nearest mental hospital and Shaw had gone on her own way. Exhausted, John and Harold didn’t immediately head back to New York, instead finding a small hotel. 

John couldn’t help hovering. The hours apart from Finch had taken a toll on him. Shaw’s comments about him not wanting to be found and having a “change of heart” had been bad enough but when he’d called “Finch!” only to have to watch him climb into the cab of that truck with Root, something broke inside him. On the way west, he’d chastised himself, trying to convince himself that he’d been wrong to tie himself so closely to Harold, to put all his trust and hopes into the man he knew he would never truly know. That had been a lost cause. He knew how he felt and nothing could change it, no matter how hard he tried to be cynical.

The heart wants what the heart wants, he’d realized when he’d caught up to him in that empty hangar where Finch’s Machine had once resided. The sight of Root holding her gun on him had shown him he couldn’t help but care. If Shaw hadn’t shot Root, John knew he’d’ve killed her himself before he let her touch Harold again.

It had been all he could to do resist reaching out to him. Instead, he asked a question, his voice rough with emotion. “Harold, are you all right?” And following that, “Is this what you expected?”

And, very softly, the answer had been, “it’s what I hoped.”

Bandaging Root’s arm had made him shake inside. He’d wanted to enfold Harold in his arms, not take care of the woman who’d attacked him. But he contented himself with the knowledge that this was what Harold wanted him to do. 

“You didn’t do this yourself.” The statement was really a question. 

“I couldn’t. I’d locked myself out. The machine was designed to accept alterations to its programming only as a response to an attack. I knew that sooner or later someone would try to take it over but I didn’t know who… so I made sure that when they did… they’d do it with my code.”

John turned to look at him, then got up an approached. “You hid a virus within a virus?” And all he could think was how much he loved this brilliant man, how much he cared and how much it didn’t matter that Finch hadn’t listened to him, hadn’t come to him when he called. 

John heard the next words and realized he would never have asked the question Finch was answering. “I didn’t want to involve you in this business, Mr. Reese”

He’d wanted John to keep helping the numbers if he “hadn’t returned.” John had known that, but it was good that Harold said it and the implicit caring touched the depths of John’s soul. If he could have, he would have wrapped Harold in his arms at that moment. But the siren and the arrival of Hersch and the NSA man stopped all further conversation.

So now, John was hovering. Harold was in the shower and John was pacing outside the closed bathroom door. He’d shed his jacket and dress shirt and was wearing only his undershirt and suit pants. He’d kicked off his shoes by the door. He needed out of the restrictive clothing. Out of any restrictions.

The bathroom door opened and Harold emerged in a cloud of steam. He was wrapped in a hotel bath towel, barefoot. His glasses were moist, his hair damp. John’s heart started pounding, restricted by his rib cage and the silence Finch had imposed between them since they’d first made love.

He let go of everything he’d been holding back. 

He stepped into Harold’s space. Put his arms around him. Closed them tight around the man’s body. 

Feeling Harold this close after so many hours, John started shaking. He couldn’t contain his feelings now, couldn’t suppress his emotions, hide them behind a professional mask or keep his distance any more. His vision blurred and he clamped his eyes shut before the wetness brewing in them could fall and shred the last of his dignity. More than anything, he wanted to pour his heart out, but he contented himself with kissing the side of Harold’s neck, trying to temper his raging emotions with tenderness. 

When Finch’s arms came up to wrap around him, John went weak in the knees. 

“I know, John,” he whispered. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” John told him brokenly, moving to cover Finch’s mouth with his own. He couldn’t do this to him, not now, not when it didn’t matter any more. If Finch didn’t want to talk, if there were things he couldn’t put into words, that was all right. John had him back now, and he was more in love with him than ever before. More than he had ever admitted to himself. More than Shaw’s cynicism or his own fears about trust could possibly destroy. 

Harold’s hands came up to frame his face and he pulled back from John’s fervent mouth. 

“I knew... if I ever started talking about… this… us… my feelings,” Harold whispered, even then unable to meet John’s gaze, “I’d never be able to stop.” He took in a short, desperate sounding breath. Looked up. “Everything… I’d say everything.”

“You don’t have to say a word,” John told him, feeling as though he’d pushed too hard.

It was as if Finch hadn’t heard him. “I would have told you… about Nathan. About how I felt about him. Even he never knew that and if I couldn’t tell him, how could I tell you? And there was so much I could never tell Grace… “ His voice trailed off. “Being with you, John… it’s so good in every way. But if I talked about it, it would be real and I’d be… betraying Grace. And Nathan.”

“We’ve both done our share of betraying,” John said gently, thinking of an airport meeting seven years ago. How he wasn’t sorry any more about that. He never would be again. That mistake had brought him here. “You can tell me whatever you want, whenever you want,” he said, kissing Harold as gently as he knew how. 

Harold reached down, tugged his towel loose. He cupped John’s cheek. “I will. Someday. But right now, I’d rather you fucked me.” The sly shyness John loved sparkled in his eyes. 

John smiled, free and unrestrained. “I can do that,” he answered. He stepped back just far enough to let Harold’s towel fall to the floor and yanked his t-shirt off over his head. He was pulling Harold close again as he undid his pants and started moving them toward the bed. 

 

_not the last time..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all my rinch pals who encouraged this fic and made suggestions.


End file.
